Right Said Logan
by DarkSeptember
Summary: Logan gets hit by a tranq dart on a mission, with unforeseen side effects. Rogue's POV, and as a fair warning, this is total unapologetic Loganmocking foof... does evil grin. Rated for swearing.


A/N - This was from a dare to write a fic based on Right Said Fred's 'I'm too Sexy'. When I was writing it, I downloaded an album that had the song on, then made the mistake of leaving it running while I wrote the ending. Well, it ran into the next song and, well, let's just say that it put such an image in my mind, I was crying with laughter and couldn't write for ages. So I had to include them both.

I have done some horribly mean things to my Logan!muse in my time... but this has to be one of the worst... :o)

Rogue's POV

* * *

Oh God this was not good. It was not good at all. 

He was just lying there, so still save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. So peaceful. I closed my eyes, bracing myself against the tears that I felt there, leaning in to the reassuring hand that squeezed my shoulder.

"It's ok, Rogue." Jean's voice sounded calm, but I knew a mask when I saw one. We had all been witness to his... actions.

It had been a regular mission, a simple pickup, but somewhere it had all gone wrong. There were traps. Men. They'd taken us by surprise. Logan had sliced through half of them in a berserker rage before he'd gone down. It was some sort of tranq dart Scott said. Like nothing we'd seen before. We'd managed to drag him out, wounds already healing. But it had unforeseen side effects. Horrific side effects...

"We've done all we can." That was Storm. I turned to her and she gave me a reassuring smile. "The rest is up to him now. His body will heal."

"Yes, but will his mind?" Jean pressed her tired fingers against her temples for a moment, trying to relieve the tension. "The sedation has-"

I looked up sharply. "You're drugging him?"

"It's for the best, Rogue," Scott interjected, automatically leaping to his fiancé's defence. The whole senior team was crammed into the medlab. "It's the-"

"But it's not what he'd want!"

"I know, but-"

"No," Jean interrupted. "Rogue's right. We should see if he can handle the..." she swallowed, "...the change..." She took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. With a nod at me, she walked quickly to a cupboard at the side of the room, pulling out a small vial before she could change her mind. Using a sterile needle, she drew a long shot.

The apprehension in the room was palpable. Under the scrutiny of all eyes, she pushed the needle into his skin. "God forgive me," she whispered quietly.

Then there was nothing to do but wait.

It didn't take long for him to wake up. A flicker of an eyelid here, a twitch there; a yawn, sleepy, stretching like a cat. He sat up, blinking, muzzily scratching his hair and looking for all the world like he'd had nothing more than a good night's rest.

For a moment I thought it would all be ok. I foolishly thought that he'd-

"Mornin'," he growled. "Is it fuckin' cold in here, or is it just me?" His eyes swept over all the faces peering back at him, then he looked down at himself, suddenly amused. "Heh. Well it aint just me 'cause GodDAMN! I am HOT!"

Oh God it was worse.

"Hey darlin'."

Huh? Uh-oh. Was he talking to me? I glanced over my shoulder, but the only other person in that corner was Scott, and he gave me a look that made it very clear Logan was _not_ talking to him.

I turned back. His eyebrow was raised, as if he was pleased by what he saw. He gave me this shadowed look, dirty, with hint of smirk. "Wanna come over here an' keep me warm?"

Ok. Even with the knowledge of what had happed... before, it was not what I was expecting. I would have put my money on: 'WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE FUCKERS THAT FUCKIN' ATTACKED US...THE FUCKS!' Not that I was complaining of course, but... did I miss something? Because last time I checked, Logan and I were at the whole, 'you're a kid, I'm a big bad wolf that eats kids' stage.

I tried to think how that could have changed without me realising, but it was so hard to concentrate because he wasn't wearing anything but... well, let's just say it was a good thing he hadn't gone commando on that mission, because his jeans had been a bloody mess, we'd had to cut them off. A hardship Jean and I had fought over. Tooth and fucking nail.

'Marie?' By this time the eyebrow had been elevated from its former raised position, and was now most definitely cocked. "C'mon kid," he whined. "I'm gettin' cold here. You'd leave somethin' like this," he tensed a bulging bicep, "to get cold?" He was expecting me to be impressed. I was. But that was beside the point.

Thank god that Scott, of all people, decided to come to my rescue.

"If you're cold Logan, put this on," he said, somewhat tetchily tossing him a shirt.

Logan studied the crumpled heap of material carefully; bringing it up to his face for a cautious sniff, before holding it out at arms length and dropping it to the floor as if it was infected. He growled at Scott. "I'm not wearin' that. I'm far too sexy for it."

"You're...?" Scott frowned. "I don't think so Logan, you look a state, your hair's a mess-"

"I'm too sexy for my hair."

"You're what?"

"I'm too sexy to repeat what I just said."

"You're..."

"Listen, _Bub_," Logan snarled, leaping off the medlab bed and hauling him close. "I'm so GodDAMN sexy it hurts. It aint easy lookin' like this."

"Listen to me I-"

Logan put up a hand to interrupt. "Too sexy," he said, as if that explained everything, then turned a catwalk spin and simply swaggered out the medlab, leaving the rest of us staring blankly at the door sliding shut behind him.

I flinched at the sound of his voice echoing from down the corridor. "Get outta the lift Hank. I'm too sexy t'be in a confined space with you. Don't want you jumpin' me or anythin'..."

Poor Hank. I could just imagine his shocked face.

"The effect of the tranq will wear off eventually," said Jean in a small voice. "The Professor thought maybe a couple of days..."

A couple of days? He was gonna be like that for a couple of DAYS? Well what else could I do? I had to follow him. Try to contain the damage field, so to speak.

* * *

He was in the rec room when I found him, standing by the window, watching in morbid fascination as the claws slid slowly in and out of his knuckles.

"Logan, are you alright?" Ok, so under the circumstances it might not have been the brightest question, but nothing else came to mind. He popped them again, quickly, then frowned.

"What?" I asked, suddenly concerned. "Do they hurt?"

He looked up at me strangely, as if struck by a sudden earth gripping realisation. "I'm too sexy for my claws," he said slowly.

"You're...huh?"

"Too sexy. They need some bling. Maybe some polish. I could get them engraved. I was thinkin' 'badass motherfucker' on this one, 'I'm too sexy for you to live' on this one, and-"

"Engraved...? Logan, I think you should go back to the medlab. It's-" Uh-oh. The eyebrow thing again. I had officially been given the 'are you _blind_?' look.

"The medlab? Look at me, kid." He slid the claws back in and gestured to his nearly naked, rather fine... _gulp_. Yeah, like I was gonna refuse. There were muscles and everything.

"Look. At. Me," he rumbled again softly, almost surprised by the revelation before his eyes. He turned around to admire his reflection in the window, a hand thoughtfully smoothing his mutton chops. "I'm far too sexy for the medlab."

So he had a point. But he was still several shots of adamatium short of a government project, if you catch my drift. "Logan, I don't think... I... Logan!" Oh fuck fuck FUCK. _Now_ where was he off to? "Logan?" Dammit, and I was gonna have to follow him AGAIN.

* * *

God knows what he said to the girls he met along the way. But I counted six wide-eyed stares, approximately four cubic centimetres of drool, three unconscious specimens lying lost to the cause at the side of the corridor and a partridge in a... oh no. That was just Hank. Ah well. "Logan, wait up."

Too late. He'd already broken into the boy's dorm. Now it may sound like I've got my priorities screwed, but I was actually quite relieved about that. It was reassuringly Logany. The fact that he bypassed the latest issue of playboy however, in favour of some dental floss, was not.

And then... oh god. I watched on in horror as he pulled his tags over his head, "Here kid," and handed them to me. "Give these to One-eye. I won't be needin' em. _So_ last season." He gave them scowl, before replacing them with a giant gold medallion.

And just when I felt like crying, tags clutched in my hand, he picked up a hairdryer.

Right. Firstly, I was having problems imagining why any of the boys needed a... ah it was Bobby's dorm, ok, so one thing explained. But, why exactly was Logan using the offending electrical item to style his spikes? I mean, it wasn't like they needed any help, they were always..."

"The left one got mussed up when I was asleep, darlin'," he said by way of an explanation, tilting his head to get a better angle. "Talk about your fuckin' bad hair day."

Bad _hair_ day? I was having a full on BAD DAY!

I wish I could say I did something heroic, like, y'know, pulled the plug. But much to my shame I did nothing. Ok, maybe not quite true. I believe that after a concentrated effort and a strong burst of pure will power I managed to close my jaw, but all my hard work was lost when he picked up the hairbrush and started trying to curl them inwards like devil horns.

I don't think I've ever been so happy to see Storm in my entire life.

"Logan. What on EARTH are you doing?" She snatched the brush, whipped away the hairdryer, much to Logan's dismay, and thrust a black leather X-men uniform into muscled arms. "Put this on. Jean's having to treat students for shock."

He frowned and shook out the leather. "I can't wear this!"

"Why the hell not!"

"I'm too sexy for black. I need..." He scratched his stubble, his eyes lighting up as an idea came to him. Dropping the uniform at his feet he strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

* * *

I found him rummaging around in the hall closet.

"What are you doing Logan?"

"Shh kid, I'm concentratin' here."

On what? The moth balls? Ok. So casual conversation wasn't working. I decided to try a different track. "Y'know the Danger room's free, we could always go down there and spar for a bit...?" Surely _that_ would jog his inner Wolverine?

"I'm too sexy for the Danger room."

"But you like fighting!" I was getting desperate now.

"I'm too sexy to fight."

"Logan, you look even sexier _when_ you fight."

Now THAT got his attention. He gave me a studied look over his shoulder. "Really? You sure I'm not too sexy to be sexy? Well, maybe I could consider it. I wouldn't want to damage anything though. I'm a prime...Ah-HA!" came his sudden victorious cry. "Much better."

He sounded pleased. Which worried me considerably, because... the...Oh.

Oh dear god.

Fuck.

And other such words.

I have a feeling my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

He was stood there. Stupid smile on his face, and a handful of...of... yellow and blue... spandex... SPANDEX for fucks sake, clutched proudly in his fist.

"Help me put this on kid."

Put it ON? The thing should be burnt! Possibly maimed first! I was really beginning to regret nagging Jean about the drugs. They were starting to seem like a damn good idea. For me, rather than him.

I shook my head. "Put the spandex DOWN Logan." I used my best firm voice and everything. Scott would have been proud. It made fuck all difference though. He just sent me a put-out scowl and stepped back inside the closet.

Five minutes, several suspicious banging noises, and more than a few angry words later, he leapt out with a growl. He struck a dramatic pose; face snarling, fists clenched, claws out, arms crossed into an X front of him. And he'd found a matching mask with blue pointy bits over the eyes too.

The snarl morphed into a smooth grin, and he tipped me a wink when he saw my reaction. "Pretty damn good eh?"

Not exactly what I was thinking, no.

"Yeah," he growled, flexing a bicep. He swaggered over to a mirror. "Damn I look hot."

"Logan," I tried, albeit a little weakly. "Y'know, I really like your normal jeans."

"I'm too sexy for my jeans."

"But what about-?"

"I'm too sexy for my belt, too sexy for my jacket, too sexy for my truck."

"You don't have a truck. It blew up."

"That's 'cause I was too sexy for it."

"But I-"

He spun around, putting his hands up. "Listen kid," he said carefully, as if he was having to deal with a sensitive situation. "Look. I didn't want to do this to ya, 'cause, y'know, you might be overwhelmed an' everythin'. But let me put this in a way you'll understand. C'mon."

My arm was grabbed, and before I knew what was happening I was being dragged back to the rec room. I tried to ignore all the strange looks we got along the way. There would be time for therapy later. Right after I had left the country.

Thankfully the room was still empty. He dropped my arm to rummage around in one of the cabinets, something that wouldn't have been quite so bad, had said cabinet not been at floor level. Have you any idea what crouching down does to yellow spandex tightly stretched over a damn fine ass? Yeah, neither have I. Total black out.

When I came too though, he was slotting a CD into the player and grinning wolfishly. "Watch," he said. "And learn." He did his best to look like a serious artiste. Which didn't really wash, mainly because of the...oh god he was beginning...

"I'm... too sexy for my _love_," he mimed as the voice came over the speakers. "Too sexy for my love, love's going to leave me." He did a heartfelt pose as the beat kicked in. "And I'm (growl) too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hu-rts." Sultry pout. "And I'm...too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan, New York and..."

Yeah. When I woke up _again_ the strains of Right Said Fred had faded into... into... what _was_ that? It sounded vaguely familiar.

..._Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena_...

And I did not like the sound of it.

..._Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria y cosa buena_...

I did not like the sound of it one bit.

..._Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena_...

This was worse. Much worse. I risked opening my eyes a crack.

..._Heeeeyy, Macarena!_

There was dancing. Oh god there was dancing. And sometime during my bout of unconsciousness, he had lit a cigar. It was hanging casually out of the corner of his mouth, while he... I choked... he... There were moves. In the spandex. Coordinated moves. Hand, hand, shoulder, shoulder, hips, swivel, jump. Repeat. Hand, hand, shoulder...

There was only one thing I could possibly do.

"Help! HELP! I need some FUCKING BACKUP IN HERE!"

God, I could've kissed Scott and Hank when they came bursting in. Scott wasn't much use though; he took one look and rushed back out again. I would have put down to shock had he not been yelling something about recording the CCTV.

Hank's reaction was closer to mine. He fumbled his way over to grip my shoulder, but didn't say anything. Not for a very long time.

Hand, hand, shoulder, shoulder, hips, swivel and jump. Repeat.

Eventually he managed, "Rogue I appear to be hallucinating."

"Sadly no," I croaked back

Hand, hand, shoulder, shoulder...

"Now, I'm sure you must be wrong there. Because I can see it as clear as day. There's the Wolverine. With his usual cigar. Only he's in yellow spandex. Dancing to the Macarena."

"I see it too."

"Oh my stars and garters, we're all sick. JEAN!" he called. "STORM! WE NEED DRUGS! AND BRING A TRANQ GUN! BRING A RIFLE, ANYTHING!"

Hip, hip, swivel and... frown. "What you shoutin' 'bout Bub?"

Hank backed slowly away. "Dear God it's coming towards me. Rogue, do something..."

Do _what_ exactly. The only thing I could think of was to form a conga, and that really didn't seem appropriate. We had to keep him contained. Yes, that was a good idea. Make sure no one else saw the - "Logan. LOGAN!" Oh for fucks sake, not AGAIN. "Where are you going?"

"I'm outta here. I'm too sexy for this fic."


End file.
